


Talisman

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [28]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, extra dose of fluffy, sort of a proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 23:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5224313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>talisman: noun; TAL-iss-mun; an object held to act as a charm to avert evil and bring good fortune</p><p>mid 17th century: based on Arabic ṭilsam, apparently from an alteration of late Greek telesma ‘completion, religious rite,’ from telein ‘complete, perform a rite,’ from telos ‘result, end.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talisman

He took a deep breath and opened the box. It's just a box, he reminded himself, there are no ghosts here. He put his hand in, finding old photographs, back when they were physical memories, not just images on a screen; the medals he didn't need or want, and, yes, there they are-he pulled the chain out and dropped the dog tags into his hand. A talisman from that time when they all held onto any bit of magic they could find. 

He wanted to give Sherlock something tangible, a symbol that he could touch and know that he was treasured, adored...a ring didn't feel right, but these, something that was part of his past, something he could feel over his heart. 

"John?"

"Coming, love." He put the tags in his pocket and returned the box to the back of the drawer.

 

They had take-away; John attempted to watch one of 'those' shows that Sherlock enjoyed critiquing all the way through, yelling at the writers when they made someone else the killer, then Sherlock lay still in John's lap, eyes closed, fingers in repose across his chest.

"You have been quiet tonight."  
"Hmmm?"  
"Making a decision...a leap of some sort..."  
"Mmmm...yeah, something like that...can you sit up for a moment, I need you to look at me, yeah?"  
Sherlock nodded and put his feet on the floor, then rolled up to sitting. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.  
"I have been waiting for a good time to do something like this...no...please." He placed a finger on Sherlock's mouth.  
"You...damn." John closed his eyes and tried to breathe properly.  
Sherlock picked up John's hand and kissed his knuckles.  
"I wish I could write you poetry, but you know how well I write...so. You mean more to me than anyone. Ever. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, coercing you to eat and sleep, listening to you rail against almost everything and everyone, and waking up each day with your curls tickling my face."  
"John?"  
"A ring seemed wrong for you, so I want to give you these." He pulled the dog tags from his pocket, and heard Sherlock take a sharp breath in. He managed to get the chain over his curls without getting tangled, then pulled the dog tags in front so Sherlock could touch them. John shut his eyes tightly, afraid to open them, until Sherlock kissed his knuckles again.  
"Yes."  
"Hmmm?"  
"Yes, yes, John, yes."  
"Yes?"  
Sherlock nodded, and John watched as Sherlock picked up the tags and kissed them reverently, then dropped them under his shirt.  
"I promise..."  
"Don't. Please don't promise me anything. I just wanted you to know what you mean to me and I never have the words..."  
"I was going to say, 'I promise I will never take these off, John.' You know I know how much you love me, don't you?"  
"Don't you?"  
John looks down and shakes his head.  
"Oh, John. Look at me?"  
He slowly raises his head to look at the man in front of him, and sees, what? He doesn't know, he's never seen anyone look at him in that intense, open, heart-shattering way before.  
"Sherlock-" he feels tears rolling down his face and he doesn't care.  
"Forever, John. Not a promise, a fact." Sherlock reaches across to wipe the tears from John's face, then returns to his previous position on the couch, his head in John's lap, hands across his chest, slightly pressing the tags into his chest.  
"I think there's a Doctor Whosit show on?"  
"Doctor Who, idiot." John smirks before he turns the telly back on again, puts his hands back into his lover's hair and finally breathes normally for the first time all night.


End file.
